


Disarm

by PlotWitch



Category: Anita Blake: Vampire Hunter - Laurell K. Hamilton
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-04-06
Updated: 2005-04-06
Packaged: 2019-03-15 18:58:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13619646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlotWitch/pseuds/PlotWitch
Summary: According to mythology, the ancient Greeks had four words for love: storge, philia, eros, and agape.





	Disarm

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into Magyar available: [Lefegyverezve](https://archiveofourown.org/works/13620966) by [Xaveri](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xaveri/pseuds/Xaveri)



> _Disarm_ is performed by the Smashing Pumpkins.

**Disarm you with a smile / And cut you like you want me to  
Cut that little child / Inside of me and such a part of you / Ooh, the years burn**

Her hands shook as she read the letter. It was neatly typed, double spaced and carefully folded inside a clean white envelope that only had her name on it in small block letters. She hadn’t really thought anything of it, only assumed that it was left by someone she knew. Now that she didn’t know him, but she never expected that he would leave her something like this. Not ever.

_According to mythology, the ancient Greeks had four words for love. Four words, Anita. Not one. Four, to encompass every possible type. The first was ‘storge.’ It is the first love you experience. The second is ‘philia,’ the love between friends, family._

She looked up, around, eyes wide and dark. She half expected for him to jump out of the shadows and yell surprise, say boo. Or even just shoot her. But he wasn’t there; he wasn’t going to jump out. She suddenly felt foolish.

She was standing in her kitchen, alone, clinging to her gun and holding what seemed to be a love letter in her hand, dripping all over the tile. She shook her head and laid the gun down, refolded the letter and put it back in the envelope.

Her fingers skimmed over the slight grooves on it where he had written her name. So simple, she thought with a frown. It was so simple for him to come in and with little more than a half-dozen sentences turn her world upside down.

Too simple.

She scooped the gun up and left the letter on the table.

**I used to be a little boy / So old in my shoes  
And what I choose is my choice / What's a boy supposed to do?  
The killer in me is the killer in you  
My love / I send this smile over to you**

It was nearly dusk before she thought of the letter again. In truth she wouldn’t have, but a breeze swept it from the table to the middle of the floor. She picked it up and stared at the windows, thinking. She didn’t actually remember opening them, but they weren’t open all the way.

No, they were raised two inches, just like she always did. Two inches that would let fresh air slip through the house and make it smell lovely. She had planted lavender and jasmine outside the kitchen windows just for that, and had helped Nathaniel with a small herb garden as well.

It was still clean and white in her hand, and she took it with her to the bedroom where she was changing. She’d gotten home early, her one raising for the evening canceled because the client had died. Bert had nearly cried over the loss of the fee, but left off when the family of the deceased had added that they were willing to pay part of the fee for taking up so much time.

Bert had wrangled fifty percent while Anita did nothing, and then smiled and gave her the rest of the day and night off. She had waited perhaps a second, no more than two, before fleeing the office. The chances of him assigning her something else were far too much for her to want to risk it.

Which was why she was curled up on her bed in an old pair of sweats. They were too thin to actually keep her warm, or even make her hot despite the summer being unseasonably warm. But they were soft and comfortable and kept the slight chill of the air conditioner from making her cold.

_The third type of love is ‘eros,’ sexual love. The lust felt between one person and another, or more, that is only physical. But the fourth. The fourth is ‘agape.’ It is perfect love. The kind of love they mean when they say in sickness and in health, for richer or poorer, for better or worse._

_Till death do you part. It’s the kind of love that makes you want to grow old and die together, so that neither of you has to live a moment past the other._

The clean white blurred as she blinked away wet warmth and crumpled the paper in her fist. He was completely raving. Ancient Greek or not, there was no sense to it. The letter fell forgotten to the floor as she rolled over and burrowed her face into the pillow.

She didn’t think about it for four months.

**Disarm you with a smile / And leave you like they left me here  
To wither in denial / The bitterness of one who's left alone  
Ooh, the years burn / Ooh, the years burn, burn, burn**

It was Christmas Eve when she found it again, crumpled and dusty and long forgotten underneath her bed. She’d been looking for an old wrist sheath that was smaller than her new ones. She frowned again at that thought. Her new sheaths that were less than two months old did not fit her anymore; they were too large around her forearms.

They shouldn’t have been. Not a bit, but she had been losing weight. No one had come straight out to comment on it. But everyone knew. Most especially Jean-Claude and Richard. And those two weren’t very high on her friend list lately.

But, like it or not, they were coming to dinner. Which was why she was looking for the sheathe. She didn’t want to be unarmed around either of them. The chances of them mothering her were much slimmer if she could threaten them than if she couldn’t.

In fact, she had the oddest feeling that they were going to try an intervention tonight.

She opened the letter and smoothed it out, giving it a quick glance and only seeing the four foreign words for love, ignoring the rest. She really didn’t want to read it. Didn’t have time. Maybe she didn’t even need to; she hadn’t heard from Edward in months. Not since Santa Fe. The letter had been his only form of communication.

And it was far too esoteric for her to understand.

She cursed but refrained from crumpling it up again, or even ripping it to shreds. That would far too juvenile even for her. No, best to put it away and pretend she had never read any of it. Pretend that it hadn’t made her wonder.

“Damn him,” she muttered as she finally found what she was looking for. The letter was left on her bed for the moment as she pulled black pants on and then added an almost festive forest green blouse. It was silk and smooth and sensual against her skin. She shoved the sleeves up and secured the old sheathe in place, carefully sliding the freshly sharpened blade into it.

Low black heels next, and then she took a glance around. She walked back to the bed and shoved the letter under the pillow, shaking her head the entire time. There was no way that either of her exes was ever going to see the inside of her bedroom tonight, but no chance in taking the risk.

Who knows, stranger things had happened. After all, she was wondering what it would be like to be with someone who actually knew her.

**I used to be a little boy / So old in my shoes  
And what I choose is my voice / What's a boy supposed to do?  
The killer in me is the killer in you  
My love / I send this smile over to you**

Anita grumbled as she yanked off her clothes, throwing them in little piles as she made her way to the bathroom. “Bastards,” she said heatedly as she jerked the shower curtain back and angrily turned on the water. She made it as hot as she thought she could stand before stepping in and letting it stream over her cold skin.

“So what if I lost a little weight?” she asked herself. “It’s not like I’m sick or anything. I’ve just been… I’ve just been…”

She sighed, titled her face up to the water and letting it stream in wet rivulets. Her hair was wet and heavy against her back. She ran her hands through it and wiped the water from her face, reaching for the shampoo and soap and scrubbing herself thoroughly.

She was silent as she rinsed herself off and stepped out, wrapping a dark blue towel around her hair and another one around her body. Her hands pushed at the silvered glass of her mirror, wiping away the condensation as she stared into it.

So what if she was pale and tired and looked like crap? She wasn’t hurting herself. She just didn’t sleep much. Or eat much. Or really do much of anything except work. But that was no reason to try and throw her in to a mental institute.

They were very lucky that she knew they were worried, otherwise she might have killed them. By law the state couldn’t force her to remain in the hospital for more than 72 hours unless she was found to be a danger to herself or others.

And they hadn’t. She had proved to them that she was perfectly fine. Or as fine as someone this close to burned out could be. But it was the fact that they hadn’t asked, or even listened when she tried to explain it. No, they wanted her back at the top of her game, so that she could help them.

And be damned what she wanted or needed. Someone to hold and be held by. Someone she knew and trusted and wasn’t afraid of. Someone who would do silly romantic things like leave love letters on her kitchen table, no matter if she understood them or not.

She turned away from the mirror quickly. Love letters. She snorted with sarcasm. It wasn’t a love letter. No, it was Edward’s way of getting on her nerves without actually being there. A game, a joke.

But still, she pulled the letter from under the pillow.

_Someone you’d die for, or live for. Someone who is your family, your best friend. Your other half. Your soul-mate._

“It’s Plato, you know.”

For a moment she thought she had merely read the words. But then she looked up. He was standing there, pale and perfect in jeans and a white shirt, snow dusting his shoulders and boots. Little bits of it melting in his hair, blending with the pale straw strands.

“Plato?” she asked, suddenly conscious of how cold her room was, and the fact she was wearing nothing but two towels. And completely not acknowledging the fact that the shivers racing down her spine were Edward inspired and not from the cold.

“Yeah,” he said. “Plato.”

**The killer in me is the killer in you / Send this smile over to you**

_It’s Plato, you know. And me. A romantic thought, or maybe just impending insanity. But I had to know, Anita. It would be so easy to be with you, so easy to love you. I’m already half in love with you. Have been ever since the day we met._

_You were so small, so tough, so determined to fight and win all on your own. But didn’t even hesitate to ask me for help when you really needed it. So trusting. So trusted._

“I don’t trust anyone else but you,” he said softly, whispering each line as her eyes skimmed over them.

“I don’t really think of much else but you. Your morals and ethics. The way you stand by your word, do something when you say you will. The way you look at me and then tell me you’ve never had a romantic thought about me.”

Her eyes shot up to his, a faint blush rising. She wondered if he knew the things she had been thinking since he’d left her that letter. The faint smile playing at his mouth said that he did, but the faint lines at his eyes said he was afraid. He was afraid of her, or at least her response to his letter.

“You weren’t home on Christmas,” he said softly.

She looked down, pulled the towel off of her hair and began rubbing it idly. “Richard and Jean-Claude tried to have me committed.”

The stunned silence that followed had her looking up in alarm. He was standing there, leaning against the doorway, eyes wide and mouth slack. “Committed? You? For what?”

She shrugged. “They think I’m wasting away.”

Three footsteps and he was laying a hand on her arms, fingers easily encircling her wrist and caressing the soft skin. “Why would they think that?” he asked.

“Because I’ve been going insane,” she whispered back, not daring to look up at his face, desperately trying to ignore the letter in her lap, the skin against hers, the way his breath warmed wherever it touched.

“Since when,” he asked as he knelt down in front of her, “do you go crazy?”

She opened her eyes, looking into startling blue and scarcely aware that her own were wide chocolate pools. “Since I started reading the letter you left for me four months ago,” she breathed as his lips crushed against hers.

**The killer in me is the killer in you / Send this smile over to you**

It was a possessive kiss, seeking, wanting, needing. She opened to it without question, hands tangling in his hair as he stroked her face and then pulled her closer. His tongue battled with hers, trying to dominate, and she fought it too for a moment before just leaning in and letting him do as he would.

His hands slipped down to her shoulders, sliding the water droplets across the skin and down to her arms as she sighed against his mouth.

“Just want to touch you,” he exhaled as he moved to taste her throat.

Anita let her head fall back as his moved across her body, and gasped as his hands tugged at her towel, laying her bare to his touch. For a moment she tried to cover herself again, but his hands on hers and the pleading look to his eyes stopped her.

He smiled faintly at her before his mouth closed first over one breast and then the other, carefully laving her skin until her nipples peaked when his mouth left her to the cold. But she wasn’t cold for long. His hands delved between her thighs and fingers nimbly brushed against her.

He smiled again as he felt the moisture already gathering there, the burning heat that he dipped his fingers in to. “Edward,” she moaned as he worked her with fingers, mouth and tongue.

“Please, Edward,” she whispered, tugging at his shirt and then jeans, pushing his clothing off of him until he was as naked as she was and poised over her.

He bent to kiss her one more time, his eyes pinned to hers as he slipped inside. She moaned softly, her hands tight on his hips and her legs wrapping around his waist. He kissed her again, this time soft and gentle and so very hesitant that she stroked his cheek and pressed her lips chastely against his.

“I want this, too,” she whispered.

She smiled at him, and he smiled back. Then he began to move inside her.

**The killer in me is the killer in you / Send this smile over to you**

The letter was on the floor, again, and crumpled, again. But there really was no room in the bed for anything but Anita and Edward and the mass of blankets they had piled on to keep warm in the cold house. He was nestled against her back, one arm wrapped around her with her head pillowed on it, the other draped against her side, fingers idly rubbing her hip.

They had not put clothes on, hadn’t felt the need to put clothes on since Edward had kissed her the night before. Nor had they felt the need to do much of anything but eat, sleep and make love. They hadn’t even offered to talk about the letter, not until now.

Even then, it was barely a talk. More like a mumbled one word sentence completion. But Anita was proud of herself, anyway. Because she had started it, and she was going to finish it. For once in her life, she wasn’t going to ruin something good.

“Edward?” she whispered into the faint light.

“Hmmm?” was the muffled response. His face was buried in her hair.

“Plato?”

“Yeah,” he mumbled back, his fingers moving more rapidly against her hip.

She smiled and nestled further back against him. “Four,” she said firmly.

“Four?” he asked, his fingers suddenly dead still.

She nodded. “Four.”

The sun continued to slip down and as it did the temperature dropped even more. Anita moved, sat up, reached for anything to put on so that she wouldn’t freeze while she went to fiddle with the thermostat. It wasn’t until she was sliding back in and peeling Edward’s shirt back off that he moved, sitting up and reaching for a light.

“Why four?” he whispered, fingers playing lightly over her cheek.

She smiled at him. A faint smile, but still there and still tiredly happy. “Because you understand me.”

**The killer in me is the killer in you**


End file.
